The Price
by Eduard Kassel
Summary: Even victory has a price, and when dealing with magic that price can prove as unexpected as it is high. With the Beldam's death, Coraline finds her humanity slipping away to fill the void. Meanwhile, a world away, the man who imprisoned the Beldam so long ago is called into account and into action. Can the latter help the former, or will the monster's final curse claim her life?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Coraline or the Nightmare Before Christmas.

_Betaed by: _Zim'smostloyalservant and Trackula.

* * *

**The Price**

**Chapter 1**

_Unwanted Inheritance_

Coraline Jones knew she was dreaming as she walked down a chalky path through the white void. But she was also certain it wasn't 'just' a dream.

"Ghost kids?!" she called out. It had been months since everything had happened, and she had locked away the Other Mother and Wybie had smashed her hand. The blue-haired girl had thought she was past all the spooky stuff, even able to enjoy Halloween last week.

So why was she here, feeling compelled to follow this path?

Then, with stunning speed, she found herself at the end, the path ending with as little explanation as its start, the pure white of the void yawning before the edge Coraline brought herself up short from, wearing her pajamas.

Hanging from some unseeable point, a fraying white bag of scrap metal bigger than her dangled at eye height. Coraline frowned at the strange sight of rusted and broken metal piercing at odd angles from the sack.

Then the sack spoke like an ancient door hing long un-oiled.

"Coraliiiine."

Coraline gasped and tried with all her might to step back. But it seemed the thought refused to budge from her head to her knees, much less her feet.

"Beldam," Coraline gasped. She would not call this monster mother, even with the word "other" in front of it.

"See what you have done to me, child? Have you no pity for your Other Mother?" the monster asked, the bag spinning slowly. The outline of the angular, eyeless face pressed against the bundle of thread-web, but didn't move or even twitch.

"No. Not after what you did to everyone," Coraline answered firmly, courage and righteous anger both pressing fear down into a jar. Beldam laughed like an arthritic gear running itself flat, snickering horribly as she rotated on her thread. Coraline still couldn't turn away.

"What is wrong with you?" Coraline bit.

"Wrong? It's like I told you, without you I'm dying. Starved to death by your selfishness," Beldam declared. There was no anger, only resignation. Coraline couldn't even get angry at the absurd accusation.

"Still not sorry. You killed them," Coraline reminded Beldam.

"They'd have died eventually anyway. I gave them the perfect childhood. And in exchange, I feasted on what they could have been. The sweet potential, the sour possibilities. The love they could have given. It was fair, Coraline. They were selfish, wanting something for nothing. Like you, thinking you could kill me without consequences."

"…You're crazy and evil. Are you trying to curse me or something?" Coraline demanded, stomping her foot.

"Heh, would that I could. But I paid a high price for my desires, too. Unlike a child, I can accept the price for getting what I wanted. But you, you have killed me, Coraline. And you can't escape that fact, or the price of it. Like a mortal grasping the red hot metal, it's not a curse when your flesh burns. It's just the result. The scales balanced. You will… pay… the pr…ice. Brat," Beldam whispered, her face passing and going again.

Her voice gave a final croaking insult, then was silent. Coraline felt a chill go up her spine, feeling something change in the air.

With a final whisper, the thread snapped and the bundle of threads and scrap that had been the Beldam fell through the void. Coraline could not resist leaning over on hands and knees, watching it fall into the nothingness. A blot, a dot, then a speck. And finally, gone.

Her eyes snapped open to a familiar ceiling.

Coraline's body jerked in bed as if she had been dropped. Looking around while sitting up, holding her covers close, she scanned the room.

Everything seemed as it should.

And if that was real? Well, it could only be good that Beldam was gone. She had won, they had beaten the monster beyond the walls of the world, and apparently she'd never harm anyone ever again.

Price? Beldam had been the one owing the world something, hadn't she? Besides, she was a liar. Why wouldn't she lie with her last breath?

She laid down, determined to go back to sleep.

Coraline would not succeed, or notice the golden eyes watching thoughtfully from the other side of her window.

**X X X**

'So, that one is finally gone for good. About time,' Cat thought as he skillfully descended the outside of the Pink Palace. Others might have spared some pity or sorrow even for one such as that at the end, but not Cat.

Cat had not fully given up the possibility of redemption. Nor had he forgotten when the Beldam was a promising student of his. But redemption was no longer possible with death, and she had never again come close to the creature he had once had hopes for. In the end, the Beldam died as the loathsome, dangerous wretch she had chosen to become. Any other possibility was just silly to consider now. There was a lesson in someone who dug their own grave.

Unfortunately, Cat thought as he reached the ground, unpleasantly wet from morning dew, the Beldam had not literally been her own end. Starvation was not typical for this kind of thing…

Hmm, a swift passage from one spot to another confirmed that with her death he was freed from his bond as guard.

There was a strong temptation to go and give the so-called King a piece of his mind. Not once had he come to check on the prisoner. Such as to see if she had found a loophole with lethal consequences. Or checked to see if his wards had actually trapped Cat here so he could not inform him of the situation.

Hmm, he had considered maybe the latter was no accident. But no, the boy was foolish, but not so vindictive as to imprison his old tutor out of spite.

Stalking the trail of a field mouse, Cat decided that a homecoming could wait. Travel was never a certain thing, so it was better to ensure he knew enough before doing so.

The girl… he was rather certain of her fate. But as he reminded his students, when chances were nine parts of ten, there was nothing stopping this time from being a ten.

So as usual, he would wait and watch. Perhaps even hope? Yes, after all, he had not cared much for Coraline's chances before. But she had succeeded where others had failed.

His mind made up as much as a cat's could be, Cat pushed any worries of the future away for now to focus on life at paw.

**X X X**

Morning found Coraline awake, but she was quick to get out of bed regardless. The sun was up, and looking out the window it was much easier to dismiss the vision as a dream. Autumn had a strong grip on the countryside, but the garden still had a beauty, and the trees were wearing their leaves proudly in the multitude of reds, golds, and browns.

It'd be a lie to say she was eager for school. But she was eager to get moving. Away from the bed where the task of failing to sleep had been a poor distraction from dark thoughts, to a world demanding her attention.

"Well, good morning," her mother remarked with a small smile as Coraline entered the kitchen. Coraline frowned, taking her seat at the table, wondering what the smile was about.

Her father was reading the paper, already dressed for a day of outdoor autumn work. It suited him much better than the days he spent hunched over a computer indoors.

Then Coraline realized breakfast was not laid out yet. Her mother had not had to call her down or her dad more gently rap on the door making sure she was on track. She felt a bit like a failure getting ready for school early, as her mother placed the plate down in front of her.

"Hey there kiddo, it's not going to run away," her father remarked, looking over his paper at her.

"It was good, what was different?" Coraline asked her mother, having polished off her breakfast quickly.

"Oh, so the normal is bad?" her mother teased with that tone that made it hard to tell if she was serious or not.

"Now you've done it," her father chuckled.

"Er, well, it's even better than usual," Coraline offered as a defense.

"Mhm. Well, it must be you feeling like getting up in the morning; that was the same old same old. Now brush your teeth. Being early doesn't matter if you dilly-dally later," her mother remarked, picking up the plate.

Charlie couldn't help but chuckle more at his daughter's stunned face at her liking her mother's cooking that much.

**X X X**

It was the same at lunch at school, and supper. Coraline just couldn't get enough; even regardless of what they were having, she looked forward to it and was bummed when it was gone. Her mother chided her for snacking, warning she'd get fat. Her father was thinking a growth spurt was coming, which trailed off into how his little girl was growing up.

It was odd, but not too odd, so she just accepted it and moved on.

Things went okay. Then an incident occurred.

"In my defense, no one could see that coming," Wybie said. His tone said he knew it was his fault, while his words made it clear he did not want to admit it.

Coraline rolled her eyes at him and glared at the bicycle. It was the true culprit, she decided.

"Why do I let you talk me into weird stuff?" Coraline asked, brushing nonexistent dust off her pants.

They were in the hills around the Pink Palace, about between there and Wybie's house. School meant less time to spend out here, which to Wybie meant making it more interesting. Well, the latest bright idea from some magazine or other had seen the bicycle try to eat her pants before they crashed.

"Well, the important thing is we're alright!" Wybie declared, holding up a gloved finger. Coraline sighed, not acknowledging that as she fingered the back of her left pants leg. It wasn't torn, too small a word. There was a gash running down the back of it, nearly the whole length.

She blushed, realizing it could probably expose her panties.

What's worse, these were new, bought since the move. Her mom would not only kill her for this, but kill her twice, maybe three times, if she wrangled out what they had been doing.

"This is your fault," she declared flatly, her left hand behind her, firmly trying to hold her pants together.

"…Yeah, probably, okay? Look, my grandma sews, so maybe she can fix it? Your mom won't get too mad if you get it fixed yourself, right?" Wybie said. Coraline made to object, but frowned instead, twisting to try and look at the damage. It felt like a pretty clean tear, so sewing it up should be doable.

"Fine," she agreed, eyes hooded, hoping to convey that she remained annoyed with him.

**X X X**

"Are you kidding me?" Coraline demanded of Wybie's parlor table.

'Wybourne, went to get another can of beets. Be washed up for supper. -Grandma' read the note on the top page of the notepad next to the fancy beaded lamp sharing the table.

"Well, maybe you could blame me?" Wybie suggested. Coraline groaned and pressed her fingers into her forehead. While that was a nice offer, it could only lead to further questions, and their attempted stunt being revealed would only make things worse.

"Where is her sewing room, anyway?" Coraline asked, looking around. She had hardly been in Wybie's house, it occurred to her; they mostly met up in the hills, the Palace yard, or hung out around school. Even after all these months, it was more lived-in looking than her place. Her parents weren't exactly the interior decorator type. Her aunt had been the original mastermind back in Michigan, she had heard. It wasn't bare anymore, but it just didn't have that imprint of the family Coraline wanted. More rented than home, she'd say if she thought long enough.

Wybie shrugged and showed her there, clearly feeling she was in one of her unstoppable moods. Or he just felt her head was on the block and she deserved a last request honored.

Coraline was surprised at the sewing room hidden behind a normal door. It was more chaotic than the rest of the well-ordered house she had seen. It was fairly cramped, for one. A large table was covered in some cardboard foldout, with measuring lines and curves of varying degrees and angles laid on it. Half the tabletop was taken up by bolts of cloth and bundles of ribbon in clay bowls. Next to the table was a sewing cabinet that she assumed had not been folded up in years, an old black sewing machine standing ready, its company name displayed in proud but simple gold print. The door of the cabinet was holding rows of rods adorned with spools of thread, string, and twine of all sorts and colors. A closet door hung open, revealing more bolts of cloth and two shelves stuffed to bursting with magazines and envelopes she guessed held designs and patterns. And finally an overstuffed chair piled high with scraps and oddities.

It was a mess, but a sensible mess, Coraline found herself thinking. While a bit bedecked and overloaded, everything was where it was supposed to be, if not presented most efficiently. As proof, she opened a drawer in the cabinet, finding needles, knitting needles, seam rippers, and other tools.

Looking over the thread, she selected a shade of blue that looked a good match.

"I'm going to try and fix them myself," Coraline said, picking up a sewing needle.

"Oh, really?" Wybie asked, sounding skeptical.

"No, just joking. Of course I'm going to try!"

"I'd like to see you try," Wybie laughed.

"Well you're not."

"Huh?"

"I'll have to take my pants off to do this, idiot," Coraline snapped.

"Oh," Wybie realized.

"So get out," Coraline said, making a turning gesture with her index finger.

"Fine, order a guy around in his own house. Great attitude, Jonsie," he muttered, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him.

**X X X**

"Coraline Jones, what happened to your pants?" Mel Jones calmly demanded. Coraline paused her video game, and put on a smile as she turned to look at her mother. Who was holding the pair of jeans. She supposed it was too much to hope her mom didn't notice as she washed them. Offering to do the laundry would have definitely been suspicious.

"I ripped them after school?" Coraline said. Her mother gave her a look that said she did not like it being phrased as a question. Neither woman would want to be told they both were masters of that unimpressed expression.

"Ripped, that looks to be an understatement," Mel said, tracing the new seam on the pants she was holding up.

"Well, I fixed it at least," Coraline offered.

"You did this?" Mel said, surprised. When her daughter nodded, she seemed to see honesty, because rather than press the subject she held the pants to look at the needlework again.

"Well, your Home Ec teacher certainly is doing her job. These are no longer school-worthy, or town for that matter. But I'll overlook it this time, as you did a good job taking responsibility."

And that was that… except for Coraline. She was left realizing her Home Economics class hadn't covered sewing yet. Where had she learned that?

And unseen by either woman, yellow eyes watched from around a corner before turning away with a proud swish, leaving a tail to slip away silently.

**X X X**

Thanksgiving was back to Michigan. Not her old hometown. Close, but not close enough to visit. It was her aunt's place, closer than most family members to others, and big enough to gather for the feast.

It was there her health was fussed over.

"She's so pale. Has she been sick?"

"No, healthy as an ox, our Coraline."

"Well, you should get her outside more. When I was a kid, it was a chore to keep us inside, now you have to practically toss them out into the sunshine."

"No, she's a regular pioneer, nothing but a deluge or blizzard keeps her from a bit of the outdoors."

And so t went. And Coraline wasn't alone in her noticing how pale she had gotten. Even her parents seemed uncomfortable, her dad trying to make light with stupid little jokes and her mother looking at her like a paragraph that just refused to flow well.

Nothing bad was said. Though again, her appetite came up, and she only stopped when feeling she'd had enough. Not because she was full; she never felt full anymore, it seemed.

She got praise from the elders for her new hobby of sewing. It was nothing much, just bits of rags the craft store had for a song, making little animals of them. She wasn't even sure why.

They wished she had brought some. Outdoors and a fine old skill being honed. If Thanksgiving was a contest, she'd have won some kind of prize, she was sure. As it was, she was glad it was over.

Though returning home seemed a signal, the growth spurt her father had predicted deciding it was time to start.

**X X X**

Growth spurts weren't supposed to start with your hands, Coraline was certain of that.

Her fingers, most of all, were longer now, scratching in her sleeves and aching a bit at the joints. And her palm was also bigger, her wrist and arms seeming to follow, but at a slower pace. Her fingers did not seem to quite fit into a fist now.

Her parents just laughed it off, saying everyone is different. Her mother in particular implied she would laugh at this being a problem with the ephemeral other things to come.

The ladies in the basement were even less helpful, quickly going off on stories of their own youth. Better than their stage stories — those could be fun, but Coraline had heard them quite a bit. They echoed her mother, but with the twist of good things to come.

Bobinski had a different take, the tall Russian asking to see her hands. She pulled them out of her pockets, standing there on his doorway as he hung upside down like some strange bat.

He felt the length and watched her try and form a fist and squinted into her face. With a word, he excused himself and slammed the door shut. He whispered loud enough inside to be heard but no words understood.

The door swung back open to show him on his feet, looking down at her with a grave expression.

"Cherish these days," he said.

He never spoke further in the matter, and she couldn't bring up the courage to ask.

Her legs started growing next, which meant new clothes, distracting her further.

**X X X**

The new clothes were mostly welcome to her. Mother instead on some nice clothes, that were just boring for Coraline. It wasn't like she was wanting to dress up like a clown or something, but did more mature clothes have to mean dull?

And her balance had been so off! Her parents laughed it off as just part of the change, warning of bigger things to come. Her mother talked about the feeling of becoming a woman. Apparently stiff joints and dry skin were feminine, Coraline had thought, trying to get her shoulders to pop.

Her father had sighed, saying he'd probably have to save up for a shotgun, as his little girl was sure to be a beauty. Coraline had rolled her eyes at the lame joke.

Then it turned out to be a far worse joke than she could have imagined.

**X X X**

What happened to her face as her stiffness got worse and her balance refused to get better ended any delusion of normalcy.

She wasn't sure if there had been signs, but it was December 12th that her face began to… run. Maybe it started in the morning and she hadn't noticed it, but it became clear when she used the bathroom, hoping to wash a gunky feeling off her face.

No one else seemed to quite see her face, really. They didn't see her features running like paint, they saw her as badly blotched or rashed; she was torn between being grateful and horrified, because it could only be magic, even if everyone wasn't panicking.

The teacher was having none of it anyway, and sent her to the nurse. And the nurse sent Coraline home, calling it some allergic reaction. And her parents, assured she was in no immediate danger, made an appointment to get an allergy test done. Which of course would do no good, because other than Wybie and maybe Mr. B, no one could frigging see her real problem.

Grinding her teeth, Coraline paced her room. She had been told to take it easy, not aggravate her "condition". But who was going to make her? Her parents were off to an important meeting, which in fairness they expected her to be at school today, anyway.

She decided to eat something. The hunger wasn't as bad, lately. In fact, she wasn't feeling it now, she realized, leaving her room for the kitchen. Maybe she was just used to it, she thought? Maybe she'd get used to this?

Turning into a doll or something? No, not likely, she snorted spitefully.

As there was no one here to say otherwise, she went for the freezer. It was disturbingly easy to open and look inside. It occurred to her she could reach everything her mom could now, cabinet-wise. She pushed the thought aside, not comfortable with it, and instead focused on the icy treats awaiting.

And found nothing but a rack of ice cubes and a pair of frozen veggie packs. Blinking, Coraline lifted the veggies as if the ice cream might be cleverly hiding. Then she checked the fridge proper, just as thoroughly. And then tore off the lid of the kitchen trashcan, to find the very empty ice cream bucket wasting away there with lesser food's remains.

Her jaw clenched, and she slammed the lid down.

Coraline Jones did the only reasonable thing she could think of. She opened her jaw wide, screaming at the utter unfairness of EVERYTHING.

Had she been thinking, she may have thought doing this would relieve some pressure and she could then go on with her day less stressed. Or she might have thought what would the neighbors think as they were think hearing that scream? But there was no thinking, only rage poured out in a misdirection at lack of ice cream.

Not that deep thinking would have helped matters in what came next.

Really, there are situations where it would be just unfair to expect a person to remain calm. This became one of those situations, when a series of audible cracks undercut the scream, which then was cut off, muddling as a sort of popping crack was made, and ceramic shattered on the kitchen floor.

Coraline's looked down seeing a hunk of broken ceramic, with teeth stuck in it. Then realized she wasn't screaming anymore. Her numb fingers touched her nose and checks with cracking tips, and slid down. Past her upper lip they dipped in and audibly tapped against something.

There were more cackling sounds. Coraline practically leap to the sink, the motion eliciting a large crack in her left leg, making her stagger. Looking into the window over the sink as a poor mirror, she saw her face. Or what was left, with her bottom jaw gone, revealing shiny brass with white powder flashing off it where her mouth was supposed to be, and the rest of her face cracking like ice under pressure.

She watched as her teeth fell out of her jaw, reflexively trying to catch them, her legs buckling under her.

Coraline caught herself, grabbing the sink with her elbows. Her arms crumpled where they hit the metal, and the teeth she caught clattered into the sink as her hands opened.

It didn't hurt, but she was trying to scream. Trying, she had no mouth after all.

Black cracks spread across her vision, and as she hauled herself up by her arms, Coraline through the cracks saw her face dried up, saw her face gone below the eyes, leaving only the smooth brass, and the eyes dried and cracked as the sockets crumbled around them.

Tre left eye wobbled and her vision shook; her arms slipped and she felt the countertop striking the bottom of what remained of her face, breaking it clear away and reducing it to powder.

She thrashed on the floor, hitting the table and the counter, pounding the floor as if desperate for purchase. Each blow cracking, until some brought forth a dull ring.

Her hands fell away from blows and flexing, leaving needle-fingers and shear scissor thumbs. Her legs seemed to lose their shape as chunks of ceramic and trails of powder shot out of her pant legs and waist as she thrashed. Then sharp brass cut through the jeans by prongs, and the pants exploded. The shining brass spikes darted about, tearing gouges in the floor and cabinets and reducing her shirt to ribbons too.

Then her left hand swiped out and caught a chair, sending it down on her head. The impact… hurt. Not a flashing hurt, more like a hard tap. And that acute sensation, after so long in growing numbness, doused the panic like a bucket of sand.

Coraline laid on the floor, blind. But she felt, feeling the chair on top of her, the air moving over her, and the floor under her. And parts of her were felt that made no sense.

The panic wasn't gone, it was lingering on the edge. Coraline put a mental hand on it. And a literal hand on her face. It had a vague shape like a mannequin, her tapping fingertips practically letting her see it with a near musical sound from the tapping. But it wasn't smooth — she discovered something where her eyes should be. Holes. Thread holes, she realized, inspecting them more.

That she felt more irritation than dread as she recalled the Beldam was likely a sign how emotionally exhausted she was.

Unwilling to try standing with the chaotic mass she felt below her legs, Coraline pushed the chair off with puzzling ease, and flipped onto her stock, getting more cracking sounds for her trouble. Panting her hands on the floor, she dragged herself, and was shocked when her fingers bit into the floor easily, and with similar ease she pulled her mass onward.

Fearing thoughts would bring another panic attack, she just accepted the bit of good fortune and hauled herself to the coatrack. She knew right where it was, she could fee it through the floor. Reaching it, she reached up and carefully felt the coats there, the texture telling its tales oddly, until she found her own.

She snipped two buttons off with ease and pulled her sewing kit box from the coat pocket.

"Well, Beldam, at least YOU didn't get to sew button eyes on me," Coraline thought bitterly.

The task was the simplest she had ever done, as if buttons and thread were so eager they practically did it themselves.

Nothing, the black void still stretched before her. Then she realized the button eyes were closed. So she opened them.

Her vision was blurry at first, and even as it came into focus, the far side of the room blurred.

"Buttons don't make the best of eyes, gee who'd have thought?" Coraline snarked. Her voice sounded the same, she noted with relief. A lock of hair fell into her face and she reached to brush it away, seeing her hand clearly.

Except it wasn't a hand anymore. It was a… thing of brass, the four fingers interlocking plates over rods, with the last joints coming to sharp points. Feeling something, she slid the tips out on reflex, revealing sewing needles, which then slid back just as easily. The thumb was a shear, with handles on a joint. The thumb sheer opened and closed as she watched.

Looking down at herself, she shuddered. Getting to her feet was unnervingly easy.

Coraline decided she needed to see everything, now. Her parents had a full-length mirror in their bedroom, so she rushed there heedless of what her sharp "feet" were doing to the floor.

What faced her back from the reflective surface was a surreal horror of metal and porcelain. A nightmare vision of modern art, shifting unnaturally before her.

The revealed metal once concealed underneath her, was hardly what she'd have called a skeleton. It was a frame, pure and simple. Large screws and even visible welding lines ran up and down the impossibly thin body. Each visible joint held together by nuts and bolts. Her torso, such as it was, was merely a fence-work of wires that stopped around where her ribs would have been. Large chunks of porcelain still clung there, vaguely sculpted the way her own body had been before this… change… had occurred. But even that was barely holding on, and even now fragments rained down, leaving a trail of white powder.

Her arms were now little more than rods fixed to simple joints, leading down to the monstrous revealed hands she'd inherited from the Beldam. Bits of white ceramic clung all along these lengths too, but her thrashing had shaken most of it off.

Her legs were wholly unrecognizable, if legs was still the proper term. The were more a terrible metal mix of delicately-jointed insect limbs and mechanical support struts. There were six, thin and crooked, ending in sharp hooked points which seemed to dig into the floor beneath her. How her old legs had managed to conceal such awful shapes and still manage to function Coraline couldn't fathom. They came up fixed to a flat metal panel that seemed to serve as a crude waist.

Another metal frame seemed to hang out the back, shaped by wire fencing just like her torso. It seemed to her somewhat like an insect's abdomen, but she didn't recall the Beldam having had one in their final confrontation.

Finally, she turned her gaze up towards her face. Or she would have, had she a face to gaze upon. What stared back from two black buttons was nothing more than a curved oblong brass surface, reminding her of a mannequin or one of those little posable art figurines. It gleamed in the artificial lighting, blank and inanimate. Yarn fell down and framed it, attached to doll-like uniform hair follicles. Aside from her face, the whole rest of her skullcap was still porcelain, or she suspected she'd be bald now.

She had to leave. Coraline couldn't stay, she knew that clearer than she was seeing, the thought wrapping tight around her mind as her legs and arms folded close on her.

The poor girl skittered back the way she had come, back to the kitchen. Her eyes locked on the back door, but she paused, her eyes falling on the shredded remains of her outfit. That could be useful, she wasn't sure how just now, but she was certain it was true.

Looking at her hands, which lacked proper palms even and such thin sharp fingers, she was puzzled how she could pick up and hold anything. Blinking her button eyes jogged her mind, and she grabbed her coat from the rack. Rather than slipping it on she laid it out and with quick precision picked up the scraps of cloth, laying them on the inside lining of the jacket.

Her clever sharp fingers snapped up every piece without so much as a single unintended cut. Then with the same swift delicacy, they tied the jacket up into a bundle, which she hugged to her strange chest.

Cradling the cloth close, Coraline slipped out the door and scampered as close to the ground as she dared. Through the garden with little regard to its obstacles, unto the grass and rocks. Up the hill and into the trees. Out of sight, leaving only ceramic that had all finished crumbling to dust and a mess of gouges and scrapes as proof anything had happened on the ground floor of the Pink Palace.

No one was there to witness this silent, terrified flight. No one but the owner of a pair of golden eyes. With a sigh, Cat hauled himself from the shadowed nook he had been luxuriating in.

There was no doubt now. He considered trying to assure the girl. But she had not fled to comfort but refuge, so company may not be welcome, he mused. And besides, he felt it would be better to come with some manner of solution, at least in the works.

Despite his resolve, he directed a silent apology to Coraline. He was as close as she had gotten to a guide in these matters, and being a cat he was hardly the most considerate guide, he knew. But that was no excuse for negligence, so without delay he slipped out of sight in one world, and into another.

The Black Cat was making his way back to where he was from for the first time in a great while.

**X X X**

Coraline had found a place in the woods. Why this spot, she couldn't say for certain, but the old large tree had caught her eye, and fatigue was pressing down on her like am anvil.

Thoughts threatened to push through her turmoil, and she pushed them back reflexively. A notion blaring in her head that if her mind startled, it would break.

But she needed rest. And a desire for safety harped somewhere in her.

With terrifying ease, she climbed the tree trunks, her legs not just stabbing into the wood but seeming to find the best spots to support her weight for those seconds. Some of the tension eased when she was amongst the branches, out of sight.

But it wasn't enough. Grabbing a branch, she pulled it to another, and after some concentration adjusted the alignment, and with one hand easily tied the branches together with their own extensions and a bit of well-tied cloth.

It seemed to take too long, but she had to redo some that came loose or redo a section that proved poorly placed. Raindrops falling anew spurred onward, making her hiss and click as her metal parts danced to their tasks.

Finally, amidst the branches of the old tree was a round mass of branches, pulled together or broken off and lashed into place. It took nearly all of her fabric, but Coraline settled on the base built around a spot of thick branches just large enough to curl herself on.

Finally in the nest she had made, Coraline Jones laid down her bundled raincoat, which still holding the last of her scraps of clothes served as a pillow of sorts to lay her head on. With nothing else to do she let herself fall into an exhausted sleep, shielded from the rain as it began to fall with greater intensity outside.

**X X X**

In a short time or a long time, Cat emerged in a place very unlike the Pink Palace. The day was sunny here, but it did not quite make the scenery cheery. Rather, it was a certain macabre look over the town. Because things meant to be seen in darkness and shadow were on clear display. While some of the typical menace might have been lost, like an empty theme park the sight was just unnerving to the uninitiated.

Cat would never admit to the relief at the sight, pausing on a stone garden wall to take it in. He'd be quick to say cats were not as fixated on the notion of home as humans and other creatures. But this was the place where he had begun his life, and the site of so many if not the majority of the major events that had shaped it and countless tiny moments that had come together to shape him.

Yes, a lesser attachment, did not mean he was detached.

The locals, which some might call his people, were about their leisure, those not sleeping the day away or sequestered otherwise from the sun. Day here was oft treated as night was elsewhere. Not a forbidden time, but a time of rest or liberty while the night was a time for wakeful duty and more wholesome activity. In short, traffic was sparse and thus easy to pass through unnoticed.

He was not about to waste time catching up when he knew exactly who he needed to see and give a piece of his mind to. Though he did not know where that someone was, exactly.

A clap of thunder crossed with an immense coughing sound shook the town, and even made Cat scramble for a moment to hold his feet. He spotted the source, a tower where red smoke was pouring out of every window and chimney.

Well, that was as good a place to start as any, Cat supposed.

_Shortly_:

Cat sat in the rafters, looking down on the strange room and feeling very satisfied with himself. He had found his goal in grand time; truly, he was a fine hunter.

The young king was trying to get a word in edgewise with the tower's owner, who was fawning over a bizarre machine that seemed composed of nearly every brass instrument known, and a third figure dressed in stained white and green gloves was waving a broom, trying to shoo the lingering fumes out the tall windows that had been opened to the sky.

"Yes, that must be it! The design is not flawed, something must have come loose below!" the pale figure with a steel-capped head said, rounding on the other two in his wheelchair.

"My boy, assist my assistant. Let us hoist the machine and reveal what component has proven lacking in its role!" the disabled one declared, his duck-like bill sneering at the machine as if it had offered him insult.

The assistant was eager, his one large eye gleaming as he seized a chain. The young king looked as if he would roll his eyes if he had any, but apparently done trying to get a word in, he seized the chain and added his own strength to hoisting the contraption into the air.

The very moment it was clear enough, the master of the tower rolled under it, muttering and brandishing a wrench. The assistant seemed to know when to stop, and his temporary helper followed suit. Between the two of them, the device seemed to offer no challenge even as the doctor cursed it, metal clanking on metal out of sight.

Deciding it was time to be about business, Cat descended with the ease typical of his kind. Taking a spot atop a stack of books next to the two hoisters, Cat smiled in his cat way.

"Jack Skellington, it's been awhile," Cat greeted.

The skeleton in the black and white suit lost his grip in surprise. As the device crashed and the doctor roared with rage, the Pumpkin King looked down on the cat in surprise while Igor rushed to aid his master.

"Black Cat? You came back?" Jack asked, stunned.

"What, did you think I was a goner? I've been right where you left me all this time, boy. But we can table that mistake for now. We need to talk, and sooner rather than later. Come along," Cat commanded, jumping down to the floor, making a beeline for the door. Jack glared after the cat, straightening his tie.

"Not a minute back and he's already acting like old times. Don't worry, Igor, I will send help!" Jack called as he opened the door for Cat.

"HAHA! This is it! The trombone was not properly tuned!" the doctor called out from within the wreck.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_Yes yes, another story. After years of tickling the back of my mind I tripped on this during my latest block on my ongoing stories. Scenes have come sporadically for months, and recently enough came together to get this first chapter up. _

_It was also nice to work with Trackula again on a transformation sequence._

_So hopefully I will see you soon on another story. But I do hope you enjoyed this latest odd idea._

_Long days and pleasant nights to you all._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Coraline" or "Nightmare Before Christmas".

_Betaed by_: Zim'smostoyalservnt and Trackula.

* * *

**The Price**

**Chapter 2**

_Mercy Also Has a Price_

Jack and Cat walked through the hills outside town. Jack had set the course; the hills were often thinly inhabited, and during the daytime even more so. He had taken to walking them when he needed solitude to consider his misgivings. Before Sally that was, he thought with a smile.

The smile didn't last as he turned his gaze on Black Cat. The return of this one was not exactly unwelcome, but he had a strong feeling it was not going to be pleasant.

"The Beldam is dead," Cat said casually.

Jack missed his step, almost staggering as he came to a halt.

"…Really?" Jack managed, waiting for the feeling of a tugged rug to fade.

"No doubt on the matter, Jack."

"…I see," Jack said, straightening his tie and frowning.

"No tears? Well, I suppose after all this time you might have gotten some kingly fortitude," Cat said, circling Jack. Despite Jack towering over the small being, he felt he was the one under examination.

'Because I am,' Jack thought. He didn't frown at the thought. The news… he was not quite sure what he felt about it. What should he feel? But he knew he should feel something, but whichever feel it was would be somehow inappropriate.

He decided to ask a question to stall for time on behalf of his emotions.

"Was it painless?"

"Not at all. Death by starvation, agonizing. She suffered, and it seems died with a hate-filled final gasp before being moved on. A horrid way to go, worthy of a nightmare," Cat chuckled. He looked up at Jack, showing his teeth slightly, which with eye alight and his haughty air made Jack almost shudder.

Yes, there was a good reason something so much like a simple cat had stood high in Halloween Town's administration before more visceral horrors. The simplicity, and yet so casually sadistic; disturbing, like walking alone through a field only to realize with each glance back a single boulder has moved from its spot as if it had always been right there. And each time you look back, it's closer. You don't know if anything will happen when the boulder reaches you. Perhaps you'll be rid of it if you reach the trees? Perhaps not.

Jack preferred to stay away from Cat's kind of Horror. It took too much and gave too little, in the Pumpkin King's opinion. Fear should be mixed with joy at coming out the other side, and a smile as you flee. A thrilled, racing heart as you bolt your door. A grand tale of terror! Not a festering terror that holds the client awake in odd hours, nursing a drink under harsh lights, waiting for dawn and hoping for once it will bring them peace from what awaits behind their eyelids.

He and Cat exchanged the glares of rival artists. Travelers on the same road facing wrong directions, and quite done with the other trying to drag them the other way.

"She was my sister, Cat. And once the Pumpkin King. Respect what she was, even with what she became," Jack ordered, bending down sharply to poke Cat on the head.

Cat's eyes widened in outrage, but then arrowed to slits. No hissing as Jack straightened up. Jack resisted the urge to nod. Yes, it was not quite like the old days; the lessons may never end, but he no longer needed this teacher's approval as he once had.

"Starvation? How, she should have had everything she needed. Self-inflicted?" Jack asked.

"Well take a seat, it's time you learned how she killed time, and others, in that fine pocket of a prison you put together," Cat said, his swagger returning.

**X X X**

Some time later, Cat had finished his story, and waited for Jack's response. The Pumpkin King sat on a boulder, slumped and jaw slightly slack; Cat was sure if he had eyes, they'd be wide and unfocused. As it was, his sockets were staring off into the distance as he sat in stunned silence.

After a few minutes of this, Cat's patience wore thin, and he cleared his throat, snapping Jack out of his daze.

"While that's a very nice horizon you're staring off into," Cat said dryly, "I really would like some sort of reaction for what I just told you. This situation requires a response, preferably sooner than later."

"I need to speak with her, this Coraline, and see what can be done about this whole thing," Jack nodded.

"Hmm, I sense there is something else on your mind. Don't tell me you mourn the Beldam," the Cat pressed. Jack looked up and managed a frown.

"She was my sister," Jack reminded his old teacher. Cat gave a single harsh laugh.

"And better for all had you set aside that sentiment and swung the axe yourself when you overthrew her insane tyranny. For all her faults, Beldam was never soft on her duty, only negligent in favor of her obsessions."

"Yes, she became a monster, I know that Cat. I knew that when I raised my hand against her the first time to save Halloween," Jack growled, getting to his feet and towering over the Cat.

"You helped me, Cat, but I was the one who overthrew Sam's chosen heir in battle and crowned myself Pumpkin King to set right the wicked path she tried to take us all on. I had some hope that in time she might become the nightmare I once looked up to, who the king had chosen as his heir. That's what I mourn, what she was, and what I hoped she could be again. As for an excess of mercy, you'll find kingship has hardened me, Cat. Do not press me needlessly," Jack warned. Cat regarded him with narrowed eyes, but then nodded with what might have been a pleased smile at the menacing shadow Jack cast over him.

"Well then, the first step is for you to reach her, Pumpkin King. The next Holiday to cross with the human world properly is Christmas. I trust you discovered the doors at some point? It occurs to me I had no chance to show you, and the other elders were too dead by Beldam to remedy that."

Jack's imposing air cracked, and he adjusted his bowtie, looking rather sheepish for a skeleton.

"Umm, there may be some issues between me and Christmas, Cat," Jack said, glancing aside and adjusting his perfect tie.

"…Explain," Cat commanded.

And so Jack did.

**X X X**

"And that was some years ago now. Sally and I have the kids; Halloween, I think, has never been better; and about two Halloweens back Santa landed for a short visit. So it seems he has forgiven," Jack finished the story.

"…Well, Jack, congratulations. It's rare I've been so disappointed that I'm at a loss at where to start," Cat snapped, glaring at Jack evilly. Jack held up his hands in surrender and Cat hissed to the side, tail bristling.

"Stealing another Holiday! I'd never even think to have that as a lesson because I cannot grasp at what point you thought such a ludicrous idea was worth pursuing."

"Yes sir."

"It manages to make Beldam seem the soul of reason, malicious reason but still reason."

"Yes sir."

"And no one but this Miss Stitch had the mind and moxy to say nay to this overwhelmingly foolish scheme?"

"Yes sir."

"…*HISS*"

"Yes sir."

"Huff! Well, at least you married sense, even if you weren't born to it. And you were ready to swing the axe on the Bogeyman even if Father Christmas beat you to the block. That is something."

"So, you see why I may have some difficulty waltzing in and asking Santa Claws for a favor then?" Jack clarified.

"Yes. And I would not be surprised if word has gotten out. You've like as not made Halloween's name mud among the Holiday Realms. Very well, it's clear I must resume some oversight of you. Your first assignment, clean up your mess. Start by reaching Coraline," Cat commanded.

"And the issue?"

"Bah! Overcoming obstacles is part of a test. You're in this mess because far too many for far too long have regarded you as some paragon. And a wife is a brand of limited utility as life is problematic to teaching. So I shall resume my place as regent until you are in a shape to my satisfaction. Now, begin!"

"…Right now? Shouldn't I tell Sally and the kids what I-"

"ROWR!" Cat hissed, arching his back, eyes seeming alight.

"Going directly to the Christmas door. Stop by and give them a word for me alright?" Jack asked, getting to his feet.

**X X X**

Jack was seeing red as Santa Claus took him into a tastefully Christmasy parlor where a roaring fire was going. Specifically, he was seeing red in his left eye socket, which had a red spherical Christmas ornament jammed into it still.

"Are you sure you don't need me to get that?" the jolly old soul asked as they reached the tall, comfy-looking chair situated in front of the fire with a small coffee table adorned wth Christmas sweets and steaming mugs between.

"No, no need. Almost, GOT IT," Jack said, the orb coming clear with a popping noise. His skull tilting on his spine, he handed the ornament off to Santa, taking a moment to set his skull aright with a pop and a click.

"I'm truly sorry about all that, Jack," Santa apologized, taking his seat and setting his cap aside to pick up a mug.

"No, I suppose it's to be expected. You can't really order someone to forgive and forget," Jack said. His bone fingers hovered like a spider over the cookies before snatching up one shaped like a Christmas elf. If he bit the head off with a bit more relish than was proper, Santa did not comment beyond a slightly inferring wide-eyed gaze before dunking a Christmas tree cookie in his own mug.

It was December 26th officially, by the land's calendar. And Jack's attire was out of sorts enough that if not for the stains of red, green, and white, and splotches of glittering glitter, it would make a nice outfit going for a less refined undead. As it was, even by Halloween Town standards, his outfit was ruined. But he knew he was lucky that was the only thing.

He had expected to waltz in as easily as last time, and present himself with metaphorical hat in hand to ask, even beg Santa Claus' aid. He hadn't really expected trouble — after all, both their holidays prized the happiness of children, and Jack was certain any lingering resentment triggered by asking a favor he could not easily repay would be set aside for the sacred task of aiding a child in need.

He had not counted on the elves. Who had not only set up alarms for his possible return, but apparently ever since that fateful Christmas Eve made it a civilization-wide mission to ensure their precious Santa would never again be menaced by any horror from beyond the door.

He was still not sure how the alarm had been triggered, and traps and such were Halloween staples! He'd be impressed if he wasn't so annoyed. And the raised alarm had brought a veritable Yuletide of Christmas-themed wrath upon the Pumpkin King. Jack was certainly glad he had come alone — Sally deserved all the respect she could be given, but save perhaps Cat through sheer sneakiness, that horde of elves he expected would have made short work of any Halloween Town resident coming in peace.

And they had succeeded, after a fashion. They had kept Jack hunted and at bay until Christmas had come and gone. And done so in such a way that Santa had not been aware of it until making his return landing less than an hour ago.

True to being a prince of a holiday that included "peace on earth" among its mottos, the Jolly Old Soul had quickly convinced his helpers that Jack was no threat and offered apologies. Though he did state Jack might have saved himself some trouble by sending a letter in advance. Jack decided as they walked to the workshop not to mention he had no option at the time to consider anything but the direct approach because he had been intimidated by a self-important feline that was right an annoying amount of time.

And here they were, him finally getting to sit down with Santa, with the Jolly Old Soul awaiting for Jack to bring up the reason for his visit.

"Well, I'm not really sure where to begin," Jack admitted. Santa gave him a smile he was sure had reassured many a naughty child who felt the world had ended wth a lump of coal.

"Try going back to the earliest part you think is really needed, and start from there," Santa suggested. Jack nodded and tapped his chin, thinking for a moment.

"I am not the original Pumpkin King. Before my reign and before my time, Halloween was ruled over by Sam, known to some as Samhain. In the course of events, and despite many venerable achievements, Sam decided his time as Pumpkin King needed to end for the Holiday to continue to grow and thrive under a 'fresher' leadership. And so he choose a successor," Jack said.

"And so you became Pumpkin King," Santa nodded, dipping a cookie in his steaming cup.

"No," Jack said. The single word stopped Santa with a dripping cookie halfway to his open mouth. Jack frowned and stirred his own cup, sending steam rising. Blowing on the steam, he continued.

"Sam's chosen successor was called the Beldam," Jack said as the steam formed into the shape of something like a spider and a woman, "And it was a choice that we all came to regret."

_Later_**:**

Jack ended his tale with Cat's report and his setting out to seek Santa. The two Holiday rulers sat in silence, both frowning. Jack contemplating old mistakes and regrets he may have tried too hard to put behind him. And Santa contemplating his own responsibilities, taking to heart the lesson of how single mistakes could so easily unravel ages of good works into tragedy.

"I see, Jack. I will see what I can do. The 25th is the time the mortal world is most open to me, but Christmas is not just celebrated on that day. Perhaps we can angle matters aright to get you where you need to be," Santa said, getting up and going to a bookshelf. He pulled a large book titled "Atlas of Belief" from the shelf and sat it down on the table, Jack joining him.

_Shortly_:

"Blast, with her location and the layout of believers in that region… At most I could get you a few minutes."

"If you just get me there, I can find my way back from anyplace the Halloween spirit lingers," Jack suggested.

"Jack, your ignorance is showing. If you journey with me, you will be bound under my Holiday. When my time runs out, you will be pulled back, or destroyed! The mortal world does not welcome our kind so generously as it once did. Especially when we are out of place. Maybe if it was a town or place deeply vested in your kind of horror… But it isn't," Santa said, flipping to another section showing Halloween's layout on the area. Yes, nothing special to take advantage of. But then, Jack had chosen it for that reason back then, hadn't he?

"So you can't help me?" Jack sighed.

"Doubtful — you aren't going to just grab young Coraline and go. You don't just need to reach her, you need time and patience to say and do what is needed. I'm sorry, if only the elves hadn't-"

"No, this all comes back to me, sir. If it weren't for what this girl was going through, I'd call it fair that I'm not getting an easy solution. Maybe the other Holidays? New Year's?"

"No! Jack, Father Time is not one to be approached lightly. He is two-faced by nature. He's nostalgia and regrets at once, hope for the future and terror of it bundled up in one. On his days, he's at his most powerful and most dangerous. He's also a stickler for rules. And Easter Bunny, after he got over his initial fright, warned everyone. So by the time I offered an explanation, I am afraid they saw only validation of Halloween, and you in particular, as a troublemaker of a holiday. You should try and mend fences with the others, but it will take time, and it seems time is something you need to spend wisely now, Pumpkin King."

"…Can you really only go on Christmas Days?"

"No, there are softer times. But those are rare and often more like going as a dream or such."

"But Christmas is very tied to specific things, right? Halloween ties into a lot of things that don't belong solely to an Autumn night. Maybe there's another way for me to travel there? I didn't even know about the doors and they were right there waiting. What else may I not know?" Jack said, staring intently into his cup.

"Sounds like you have an idea," Santa smiled. Jack set his cup aside and nodded.

"Thank you for your time. If you'll excuse me, I think I need to study, and talk with an old teacher whose lesson might actually be needed now."

**X X X**

Wybie took a deep breath. He felt like he was on the high dive on a dare again, the kind without a real diving board but those big concrete things. He'd never told anyone how much those things bothered him. Unlike their bouncy cousins, they seemed to just loom as serious business. Taking a happy time for kids and dragging it into a rigid adult world of calculation and consequences or something.

But this wasn't a high dive. It was a path into the woods.

Snow was thick on the ground, but old, his own tracks from previous trips showing the way. He had marked the trees at what he felt was Cat's urging, three cuts forming a crude C.

This was was not his first time down this path, but like those high dives it never seemed to get easer to take that first step out.

These woods… he was an outdoors kid. He had nothing against a bit of TV, or video games, heck he ruled at many a board game. But he'd never understood how so many people preferred to take a spectator role in life. Life that was waiting 'out there' to be lived. Like his odd relationship with Cat, for example.

So while he had taken enough knocks and scares to respect the outdoors in general, and the woods in particular, he was not afraid of them. But, standing before this path, each time it felt like he was somewhere he was not supposed to be. As if the shadows of the trees on snow were watching, and the creaking of bark and cracking of ice was a muted chorus warning him this time he might not come back from around that next corner.

He was scared. Raising his face, he put his mask down, squaring his shoulders.

But being scared wasn't an excuse he was willing to accept, so he took the first step. After that it was just a plunge down to the water.

**X X X**

"Tree fort looks lousy as every, Jonsey," Wybie remarked, reaching the tree.

The boy got no answer from the structure that reminded him of a squirrel's nest. If a squirrel were scary big and had access to a rag bag.

Wybie pulled out a pair of sandwich bags from his backpack; one with small bronze screws in it, the other containing a box of staples.

"I brought more potential edibles! i figured maybe metal wants metal right?"

"I told you not to come back," a hoarse voice called down from the tree.

"Yeah, but following instructions has never been my best trait. And despite what you may think, Jonsey, you're not the boss of me," Wybie said, approaching the tree with a casual stride but eyes glued to the nest. The nest stirred, she was moving around.

"Nothing has worked."

"Yet, nothing has worked yet. It's just good science, accept failure, note it, and use what you learn to keep going…"

"Science? Wybie, we left anything approaching reason behind many turns ago. Are they even still looking?"

"…I think so. Your mom still asks me when she runs into me."

"Not a word."

"Jonsey-"

"NOT A WORD!" Coraline roared, slamming into the ground in front of Wybie.

Wybie, with a wordless cry, fell onto his back. Head bobbing up and down, a rag pressed to her face where mouth should be, Coraline gagged and wobbled on her many legs. Straightening up, she glared at him, those buttons shiny as if polished, and advanced slowly. Wybie couldn't help but pull himself backward before her.

"This… curse. I got too close and thought I could get away, Wybie, but I didn't. It splashed on me, infected me. Ruined my life. The last thing I want is someone else, especially my family, getting caught up in it. Saving me, tying to save me, could only make things worse! This isn't some fairytale, and you're no shining knight! If the world wants to seam over a Coraline-shaped hole and move on, that's probably for the best. DON'T COME BACK!" she roared again, grabbing him under his left shoulder and tossing him back toward the path he came.

He was man enough, that he wouldn't deny he ran.

"Whew, well that could have gone better," Wybie told himself, reaching the edge of the forest. Picking a twig out of his hair, he frowned.

"Three days should be enough to let her cool down. Knight in shining armor? Phfft, I prefer too cool bounty hunter type or maybe the alchemist, Jonsey," Wybie muttered to himself, thrusting hands in his pockets and making his way home.

**X X X**

Oogie's Basement; Jack found it distasteful as ever. Even abandoned to decay, it retained an aura of Oogie's rot.

Cat had sent him here, in a roundabout fashion. The feline's lack of reaction to his failure to secure aid from another Holiday made Jack suspect his old teacher had expected this. Sent him there in order to get the business end of a Yuletide!

Well, if there was a key of some sort in Halloween Town, something tied to his station as Pumpkin King, Jack didn't know about it.

He was appreciating freshly how much Beldam's fall from grace had cost them as a people. First the knowledge of other holidays, and now whatever it was he was looking for. Who knew what other lore, great or small, had been lost to her insanity?

The late and unlamented Boogieman had been a hoarder even by the standards of their kind. His banishment to the underground had only made him more determined in coveting whatever fell into reach or whatever his minions brought to appease him. And… his sickness had been much the same as Beldam's.

Too many links to ignore, so now by lantern light Jack explored in search of he knew not what.

Turning a corner, he arrived at the site of Oogie's death. The area had a disarrayed look to it as Jack raised his lantern and stepped delicately. The cobwebs were… too well put out.

"Someone went scavenging," Jack noted with some surprise. Oogie's mechanics and animatronics had been broken down or outright hauled off. There was little left but scraps and the circular conveyor, adorned with decorative spider webs.

"Well, it's not like he was going to have any more use for it," Jack shrugged, leafing over to glance into the pit that had been intended as Santa Claus' soupy grave. Dry as bones now, and the pot or such gone, leaving nothing but stones and dirt to catch the light.

"Waste not, want not," Jack remarked, realizing Oogie's hoarding was no secret, and now that he thought on it, he could definitely see the citizens only waiting so long as it took to be sure the old Boogeyman was dead before ransacking his place for any stolen items or just salvage for their own ongoing projects.

"Which means this may have just gotten a lot harder," Jack scowled, matching the expression carved on his lantern.

Still, he decided to press on for the moment, passing through the main gallery and entering through an open doorway to what he guessed was Oogie's office.

"No, a workshop," Jack corrected himself, seeing the cubby holes for long-gone tools and parts. A bucket still held rolls of paper, which Jack pulled one out of. Schematics, for one of his gun-totting animatronics. Replacing it, Jack looked over the place and noticed the desk that seemed the least picked over thing.

Going through the drawers, Jack found many things most would find disquieting, or outright scary, but to him and the plunderers before him, didn't warrant a second glance.

Soon he had checked the last drawer, and feeling a bit thwarted, took a seat on the hard floor.

"This whole thing seems a bit too much. A scavenger hunt without even knowing what you are meant to scavenge? Am I looking for a key, a clue to a key, or some kind of door to begin with? Perhaps Sally can offer some…" Jack trailed off, noticing something from the corner of his eye under the desk. Grabbing the top of his lantern, he rotated it to cast its scowling radiance on the questionable bit of darkness.

A book, quite thick and bound with leather, formerly lodged between a broken desk leg and the floor.

Narrowing his eyes, Jack hefted the desk just enough to take the weight off and slide the book free. He let the desk topple, falling apart under its own impact and kicking up a dust cloud.

Jack walked out of the cloud unperturbed, holding his lantern aloft as he blew decades of dust off the tome.

"Threading the Needle of Creation: A Study of the Means and Methods of Traversing Worlds," Jack read the engraved title aloud.

He gave a grin worthy of his namesake and flipped the book open to start reading as he walked out of his vanquished foe's rotting lair.

**X X X**

"Well, Jack, it seems you're on the right track," Cat remarked with a sly grin. Jack frowned, not sure if the rhyme was intentional or not.

They were in his tower study; he had finally been able to come home, but a quick greeting with the children aside, he had kept his metaphorical nose in the book. The vexing thing lacked a table of contents or other aids, so it was a page by page slog for anything useful.

Sally had been understanding and kept the children away. Jack hated to neglect them at all, but seeng them only made the urgency of this matter bite harder. Three children dead before their time, his fault. And another child dealing with changes beyond her knowledge without even a bit of guidance.

As a father, a king, and a skeleton of true and vital bones, it was demanded of him to see this matter resolved to the best of his ability.

"The Moonstone, an artifact of uncertain origin. A stone such as taken from a river, that could easily fit in a grown man's hand. Black as darkest night on one half, pale as the moon on the other. With this, the owner of the stone can travel between the mortal world and the Otherworld most attuned to them. But only on the nights of the full and new moon. And it can only be accessed through a ritual whose first requirement is it be done here, in the land of Halloween," Jack recounted to Cat as Sally entered. She favored Jack with a smile and refilled his teacup, having brought a fresh pot. Cat she gave a scowl to.

"Any cream?" Cat asked her, putting on his best eyes.

"Once you give me back my husband, I'll consider it. I don't take kindly to people popping up from nowhere and acting as if they own the place," Sally said evenly. Jack smiled, but Sally gave him a look that made him school his face.

Yes, she had not been pleased that he had neglected something so important either. It seemed whether he would get an earful from here after the matter was resolved was still in the air. So he'd best keep his best pluck forward yet.

"But Jack, if Oogie Boogie knew about this stone, why didn't he use it? He would be just the type to run amok and cause mischief of the worse sort over there," Sally asked.

"Well, the answer's right in this book I expect, do read on Jack," Cat snickered.

Jack drummed his fingers on the desk, raising an eyebrow at the cat, who was seated firmly atop the book, namely upon the page Jack needed.

Cat just stared back at him.

…

…

"Honestly! I'll get cream," Sally huffed, turning and marching out. With a grin, Cat leapt off the book and to the floor. Jack brushed some black hairs from the page and read on. Blinking, he read again before continuing.

"No wonder he didn't try and get it himself. The Moonstone cannot be found or summoned. Only earned by overcoming the challenges of its three guardians," Jack read.

Well, no one said it would be easy. Fortunately, he was the Pumpkin King, he thought as he grabbed a sheet of paper and began jotting down notes from the book.

**X X X**

Jack found the preparation for the ritual refreshingly straightforward. Certainly, in another realm another person would have troubles, but many of the required components were right in his own house for the taking, and the rest amounted to little more than an hour of shopping on Main street. As for the magic, he had to see the witches to clarify a few points, but they were eager to assist him.

All in all, the main thing delaying him was the need to wait until the moon reached its zenith.

As ready as it could be, Cat watched over the array, letting Jack retire home. The children were determined to make up for lost time, only being stopped by Sally summoning all to the dinner table. While Jack had not gone hungry, a proper dinner with the family was far more invigorating.

Any hopes of spending more time with the children were dashed by Sally, who sent him off to bed.

"Jack, you've not gotten a good day's sleep since this started. These trials are something you need to put your best foot forward for. Get some rest. I'll wake you when its time."

And with that, he was alone in their bedroom.

"Why is it when you most need to sleep, you can't?" Jack griped, getting up from bed, night cap adorning his skull.

Making his way to the dresser, he opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of bottles. Spiking the drink with just three drops of potion, he gurgled it before swallowing. Not feeling like getting back in bed yet as the potion wouldn't even take effect right away, he rapped his fingers on the marble dresser top, and looked over the pictures on the wall. Of course there was one of him in his monochromatic regalia, and Sally in her stitched elegance. Each of the children had their own frame. Even the Doctor was honored, tucked away in a corner while a family portrait held center stage. Hmm, and one for the Doctor's wife, Sally's stepmother.

The children had never asked about Jack's family. His parents had no portraits, here or elsewhere; back when they resided in the town, such things were for a higher class than they.

Beldam, his sister, the children's aunt. There had been portraits of her. And a statue once adorning the town square. Jack had personally seen the statue destroyed during that fateful battle, crushing two of his sister's corrupted abominations in the bargain with it. He was less sure what had happened with the portraits. Burned? Or gathering dust in some corner?

Would it be right to put up her portrait? It seemed too much, after what she had done. But acting like she didn't exist, he had to admit now, sat ill with his conscience.

Did Coraline's family have such a spread of pictures? With one now draped in black, mourning someone in ignorance while they yet lived.

Jack was not sure the weariness he felt was the potion taking effect as he made his way back to the four-poster bed.

**X X X**

The array was set up on a lonely hilltop, an assembly of three triangles forming four triangles to make four with a circle about it and candles of different sorts burning at the right places. The spells had been cast, and now all that remained was for the moon to move into position. Jack watched, with Sally by his side and Cat on her shoulders.

"Likaces, unbreaking and untiring, must be made to submit. Dirujad, smoke and shadow, pursuer and hunter, must be trapped. Lan Deach, who guards the gate, must be answered," Sally recalled aloud.

"Three guardians to be beaten, straightforward enough," Jack commented.

"Jack, Oogie Boogie was greedy and ambitious, but he apparently feared them enough to not even try."

"Oogie was always a coward at heart, Sally. For all my faults, I'm not that," Jack assured her.

"I know, just be careful. We only know what was written," Sally sighed.

"And don't tarry," Cat spoke up, "In three days time, the full moon will rise on the Pink Palace; if you don't have the moon stone by then, Coraline will have to wait until the new moon."

"Have some faith. After all, I am the Pumpkin King," Jack said, as the array ignited in blue fire under the moonbeams.

"Show me that you are," Cat answered. Jack didn't answer; straightening his tie, he stepped into the flames and faded from sight as he crossed the array, vanishing into the night.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Happy Halloween!

Next chapter, Jack and Coraline meet.


End file.
